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A New Voice

A new voice
Was
A language hidden
In poverty
Of otic region echoes
Of mountainous streams
Gold reed’s rustling secret
Hushed beneath
Shadows
Inverted
Aside a crude cabin’s cello and cold hearth
Fibrillating near charred remains
Formerly known as – church bus –
In family circles –
And skeletal remains
Of a broken compass
Pointing north
Always north
Forever

North

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16 thoughts on “A New Voice

  1. Your expression is vivid in this and I enjoyed the felt sense of. your words Henry. A mystery within the bones of the earth and those walking it that has always been, but just beginning to be recognized. Send peace and love my friend ~ Rose

  2. some intersting pieces here…the hidden language of poverty..i do think its there….the formerly known as church bus…ha nice…i like your use of fubrilating as well…if you got to go a direction, north is not bad either…and a new voice much appreciated…smiles.

  3. Every writer has many voices, but there is one that binds them together (sorry for going a bit Lord of the Rings there). Trying to describe new experiences, new emotions, searching for new images, can lead us to develop new voices.

    North’s ok in the summer 🙂

  4. Often we find ourselves looking North…to those that have what we never knew we were missing. The new voice…how long before it was recognized by the otic region and defined as poverty…and as we look north…is this the life we really want? Oh dear, Henry…too many ways for my mind to run when all that really matters is the writer’s intent…rather than leave an essay, I’ll simply read it again. 🙂

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